


the whore of winterfell

by Poose, seven_hells (Poose)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Banter, Bathing/Washing, Brothels, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Loss of Virginity, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/seven_hells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Robb and Theon use the same prostitute. Pretty OOC for Robb, in the name of kink, of course!</p>
            </blockquote>





	the whore of winterfell

The mistress of the brothel was happy to see Theon, greeting him with a bawdy slap on the arse, and had already begun to tease him about wanting two girls again -- "Ros'll be free, in a moment, and you'll be wanting a blonde again, I reckon--" but stopped short immediately after realizing that his companion was none other than Lord Eddard Stark's trueborn son and heir.   
  
"M'lord," she said, dropping into a rushed curtsy. Robb nodded stiffly. He looked painfully out of place. _Starks did not come easy to pleasure, nor,_ Theon thought to himself, _to pleasure houses._ But he would do his best to change all that.   
  
"Wine," Theon said, sitting at the oaken table and pulling off his gloves. A serving girl brought them polished cups full of golden wine. Drink would take the edge off, though whether it would give his companion liquid courage enough to bed a girl remained to be seen.   
  
"Haven't seen her here before," Theon remarked, eyeing her rear as she retreated. "Wonder if she's flowered yet. Shall I ask the mistress if she's for sale? Nothing like a virgin, cor." He studied the sway of her narrow hips. _A pity to waste her on Robb, if she was a virgin. Perhaps a golden dragon in the mistress' pocket to reserve her maidenhead?_ His breeches grew tight at the notion.   
  
"No!" Robb's voice was sharp and high. He had come with Theon many times before to the whorehouse, but had never actually chanced to set foot inside until tonight. It was far time he learned to bed a woman, Theon had decided, and had been planting hints to this effect in Stark's ear for several weeks now. He had even mentioned the idea to the two girls the last time he was here -- not while Ros was pleasuring him with her tits, his own head buried between Laya's milky thighs -- but after, when they lay in a sated tangle on the featherbed.   
  
"Has Stark ever been here?" he asked. Laya shook her head, "Lord Stark is ever faithful to his good wife Lady Catelyn," she told him. "Not _him_ , you stupid woman," he said, "the younger wolf, the _other_ Lord Stark."   
  
"He has not," Ros said in turn, tracing soft lines across his chest with the pads of her fingers. "His Lordship has not graced us with his presence."   
  
"Nor his coin," Theon laughed. He turned to look at her, "Would you do it?" he asked.   
  
"Only if m'lord wished to do so," she answered. _A sensible tactic,_ he decided. It was well nigh impossible to bend any Stark to one's will without their consent.   
  
"Hmm," Theon said, tucking a hand behind his head and staring at the ceiling.   
  
This time, after he bid Robb and the rest of the front room farewell, he asked Ros about it again. He watched as she washed herself. Normally this would be done between the customers, to preserve the illusion that the whores were fresh, that the one man with the coin was the only cock they had each evening. Theon, for his part, rather liked to see Ros prepare herself for him. Naked as the day she was born she would sit on a stool across from her enameled wash basin and with a soft cloth remove the lingering traces of the man before.   
  
"Did he spill on your belly this time?" Theon asked, watching her dab down between the swell of her breasts, "Or was it on your tits?"   
  
"Neither," she said, swabbing between her legs with the cloth. Back to front she wiped, dipped, wrang, and wiped again. The lips were pink and swollen, wet from the water, and also, as she informed him, from the seed of the previous patron. That made him still harder, and when she saw his hand drift to his laces, it was but a moment for her to cross the room.   
  
"Perhaps you could start him off like this," he said, rocking his hips between Ros' breasts, which she was pressing together with both her hands. The valley between them was soft and pillowy but she nonethless gripped him tight as a cunt there. _Gods, but she was good._  
  
"Could do," came the answer, "Or," and she dropped her hands and shifted her head, and before he could fully register the change his cock was half down her throat.   
  
"Gods, yes," he hissed. "Give our young Lord Stark a taste of that mouth, sweetling, and you'll end up the whore to Winterfell in a few years."   
  
Ros' mouth told him that she rather liked that idea as well.   
  
When he left her she was washing again, but the next man was not his warden's son -- who was chatting with the barkeep about _horses_ , it seemed, inured to the temptations of the flesh all around him -- but Theon shrugged it off. Getting Stark to the brothel in the first place had been accomplishment enough. And three days hence he would return without young Stark, he resolved, and that time he would have three girls instead of just the two, and one of them a virgin, besides.   
  
That thought sustained him in the saddle for the hard ride back to Winterfell. 

 

*  
  
 _Such a silly boy,_ she thought, pouring water into the basin. He had the coin for three women, and Theon Greyjoy had fire in his loins enough to pleasure all three of them. But the time he gave her was lessened, for sure, and she worried that it would not be enough. Amrita was a maiden, though, and fearful of pregnancy, and so when Ros suggested that he spend inside of her instead, the girl quickly agreed. For all his cockiness, Theon was malleable as a kitten during sex, and gave himself willingly to the redheaded whore as the other two kissed his face and neck.   
  
From the hidden side door he entered, padding on wolf-quiet feet, and crept up behind her quietly. It was only when she saw him reflected in the mirror that she noticed his presence.   
  
"Lord Stark," she said, to his reflection.   
  
"Beautiful Ros," he said, to the back of her neck. "Was he here?" he asked, but he did not wait for an answer, sliding his hand down her belly beneath her open robe to touch her. She was less sore than usual, though wet as always, and sensitive, so sensitive, when Lord Stark's roughened fingers skirted over her.   
  
"Yes," she gasped, as he dipped two fingers inside. Robb mouthed at the back of her neck. This was his way; he would rather she not turn to face him. They both understood why. She clenched up as he worked her with a brutal pace, until her own arousal mixed with what Theon had left inside her, at her insistance, and it was from behind that he had her, not even bothering to strip off his leathers. The dusky smell of them, the tickly brush of his furs against her shoulders as he fucked her -- and, she knew, through her,  _him_  -- and even though her pleasure was upon her, Ros the someday whore of Winterfell remained as quiet as a mouse. 


End file.
